"I'm going to kill the king."

A formidable nation is being destroyed by corruption at its very foundation. While clans, guilds, and cults tear at each other for control of the senate, the king rules through manipulation and fear, driven only to expand his power by any means possible.

When the reckless bounty hunter Kellson is convicted of crimes he didn't commit, he escapes but he's determined to bring down the king and his decaying government.

Running from the authorities, Kellson stumbles into a world thought only to be legend - a world of Shadows, an infamous clan of warriors who oppose corruption in any form. Known for their elite skills as fighters and infiltrators, they take in Kellson and begin to teach him their secret skills as insurgents. But Kellson has a bigger plan; he intends to lead a rebellion...if he can master the Shadows' skills and convince them to join him.

The Kingdom Of Shadows

Book 1 Shadows' FallBy Jared Griffis

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2010 Jared Griffis
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-9894-6

Chapter One

Nine years later ...

Offir shaded his eyes and looked across the rolling, springtime plains. The scent of wildflowers permeated the air. A creek ran past, gurgling contentedly, and young jackrabbits dashed across the lush meadow, always on the lookout for greener grass. This beauty was lost upon him as he strode past, pausing only to spit in the glittering, crystal water. He had a job to do.

A ruffian by nature, he prided himself in being a backstabber, thief, and drunkard. This did not mean he was not smart; on the contrary, his trademark cunning mind had always served him well. Strong, fast, and with good instincts, he outmatched and outfought everyone he met ... when he was sober. His skills had led him to create and rule his own gang, the Eternal Blades. Though thousands of miniature mobs such as his existed throughout Allysis, less than a fraction of them were successful and even fewer sent a representative to the Senate. A king ruled Allysis, holding the position of complete ruler. However, early on in its history, as citizens became dissatisfied with the monarchy, some began to form clans. They started with families, then families and close friends, and soon, anyone who wished to join was accepted, no questions asked. Since then, cults, clans, guilds, gangs, clubs, cliques, bands and other varyingly named groups of people had floated to power, only to later drift back down. Very few stayed at the top of the ladder, but the Eternal Blades were so entrenched in the top echelons of power that to remove them would have required a miracle. (Many clans tended to have overly creative names that the originators thought sounded interesting.) Offir's men were just like he was, especially in moral code. They were made up of deserters from the King's Army, former assassins, and remenants of disbanded clans, to name a few. They numbered over nine hundred at last count. Offir was their chief, and no one questioned his leadership. He sent word through his network to all his gang captains, to the ends of the Kingdom and beyond. The officers were to assemble in the town of Tirann to meet a man who said he had a job for them. Offir fingered his sword hilt with anticipation and walked on.

When he reached the gate, he met no guards-not surprising. In such a city of crime as this, there was no point; and besides, the watchmen on duty took so many bribes that it defeated the entire principle of watching. He smirked and pushed the doors open, sauntering in. Was he not the strongest of leaders? The King himself wouldn't dare attempt to fight his formidable clan, and the King commanded a huge army. When life is good, you deserve to be confident. He swirled his blue cape about him as he strode down the long street.

Beggars constituted at least half of the city's populace, but most wouldn't bother armed men. "Please, my lord, just a few coins, for my daughter?" a disheveled man pleaded, cradling a sad-eyed child of surely no more than five years of age.

He kicked the pauper out of the way as he walked to the Knife's Edge Tavern, leaving the crumpled man groaning in the dust and the little girl kneeling beside him. Dust plumed around Offir's cape as he opened the door of the bar and swaggered inside.

The tavern was filled with people, unsavory types for the most part. A grizzled old bartender was leaning on the edge of the counter, polishing a beer glass with a rag. Offir strolled up to him, casually resting his hand on his long hunting knife.

The bartender squinted through a mess of gray hair at the clan chief. "What can I do fer ye, eh?" he wheezed.

"Where's the man who came here before me who had a blue cape like mine?" Offir asked, his tone an even mix of contempt and arrogant boredom. "He has red hair, maroon eyes, bad temper ..."

The bartender nodded, "Oh, that bloke. 'E came about four hours 'go, arsked for someone that 'as a blue cape and black hair ... ah, you, I would imagine, eh? 'E's down in the basement with 'is friends. Turned as red as a tomato, E did."

Offir pushed past the bartender, tossing him a coin. "Don't you or anyone else go down there."

The old man hurried after him. "Uh, well, there are a few people down there, who rent out rooms ..."

Offir turned on his heel and snarled, pointing the knife in the barkeeper's face, "Then get them out of there, muckhead. We need to be alone, d'ya hear? Alone!"

The bartender hastily scrambled down the stairs. Offir drummed his fingers on the countertop in impatience as some men came out, thoroughly disgruntled. The old man came back up, gasping and holding his side.

"Whew, not as young as I used to be, eh? That should be all of-"

Offir cut him off. "Shut up. Don't go back down there until I leave."

Without another word, he strode down the stairs, his cape billowing behind him.

* * *

Anger poured off Quent Bluddman. The big man paced up and down the torch lit room in front of the seated captains of Eternal Blades, muttering under his breath. "Need food and shelter for the boys what came with ... why won't he hurry up? Late as usual ..."

Offir burst in with a flamboyant swish of his beautiful cobalt cape. "It's not that I'm late, it's that you're early, Bluddman. I said I'd be here by seven o'clock, and here I am."

Quent rushed to greet his leader. "Chief! Thank the stars, I was about to have to go buy spirits from the old coot up there, and the ale here is awful!"

Offir rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if you are really as stupid as you sound. When did the man say he would be here?"

The second-in-command shrugged. "He said seven o'clock. He should be here."

"Well, he's not. Unless he's invisible, he ain't here."

They waited for an hour until Offir began to lose his patience. He and his subordinates went upstairs to get drinks. No one noticed a dark shadow flitting past them.

They sat down at a table and waited for something to happen, guzzling down their ale. "How do we know this 'business employer' isn't part of the Kingdom?" Krake, the commander of the archers, timidly asked his angry leader. "Or what if he is part of the Shadows?"

"The Kingdom only put a price on our heads because they're too scared to come and get us!" Quent said. "And if it is a Shadow, we can put paid to him quick enough."

Offir scanned the tables around them ignoring his men, Lackeys, fools and bumblers, the lot of them, he thought to himself. They couldn't kill a defenseless child if they had twice their number to help. They needed him. He guzzled down two pints in quick succession as he looked at the bar's inhabitants. A soothsayer was in the corner, giving advice to a nervous looking merchant. Some gruff-looking trappers were talking to the old bartender. A group of the local militia was sitting a few tables away playing dice. A man, hooded and cloaked in black, was sitting by a table next to Offir's own.

None of these people could be a threat ... but the cloaked man gave him a slight shiver of apprehension. Cloakers, they were called. They could be anyone, so long as they used cloaks and hoods to disguise their identity. Every few moments the man would turn and look at Offir and his clan members. Offir couldn't see the man's face, but he knew the cloaker could hear every word they said. Offir got up and walked over to the strange man. The cloaker didn't look away from Offir's face. Although he didn't know why, Offir felt strange as he stared at the man. After a few seconds, he realized he was nervous. Him, the leader of the most powerful clan in the entire Kingdom, was scared of a man he had never met? Offir curled his lip.

"Why are you listening to us? That could cost you your ears if I didn't feel generous." There, he would show the man who was in control. The man didn't move, but Offir thought he heard a light snort from beneath the inky depths of the cowl.

He decided to try again. "I don't want trouble. Why don't you just move to the other side of the room?"

The voice was low, threatening. "I see no reason to move. Besides, your men have nothing to fear from me. You might, though, if you don't watch it."

Offir felt his blood boiling, but forced his anger back down. "I'll give you one more chance before I give you the tip of my sword. Leave!"

"Leave, yourself!" growled Kellson.

Offir lost his temper. Perhaps he could have kept cool if he had done business with the man for whom he had called the meeting. Perhaps he shouldn't have drunk so much, because no matter how bad it tasted, the ale was strong. Whatever the reason, he exploded. "You heard me, thickhead! Do I need to clean out your ears with my sword? Get out of the way, and move to another table!"

The old bartender came running up. "'Old fast there, mate. You can't go 'bout telling people t' move to another table, the bar rules are against that, see."

"I can do what I please! I am Offir the Powerful, and you ain't gonna stop me from doing what I will, you old oaf! Die!" With a drunken roar, he swung his sword at the old man. It whistled through the air, only to stop at the parry of a dagger.

The cloaked man had stood up. He twirled his knife expertly and calmly said, "Why don't we try this again. You go sit down and mind your own business."

Offir's men stood up and made a semicircle around the cloaker. In spite of being outnumbered eight to one, he was still standing up with his knife held loosely in front of him, with the confidence of someone who could and would kill if necessary. An Eternal Blade captain, named Kayle, ignored that warning sign and unsheathed a foot long, jagged-ended knife.

"I'll do the chief a favor and slit your gullet 'less you ship out in two seconds flat."

A clang echoed, then a thud, and Kayle's knife was stuck in the table, buried a quarter of its length in the hard oak wood. The stranger cocked his head and taunted, "That should get me a few Suns at the nearest ladies' school." He suddenly spun and laid out Kayle with a roundhouse punch to the jaw growling, "Worthless hothead."

Offir was red in the face and blowing air like an angry bull. He roared and took a swing at the stranger, who sidestepped neatly as the sword crunched through the table. He took another swing. The cloaked stranger ducked and nicked the blade with his curved knife, leaving a faint scar on the silvery steel.

"I'll teach you some respect, you worthless little tramp-" Offir began, but abruptly fell silent.

The knife suddenly appeared in Offir's stomach. He looked down at it, then up at the strange man. The cloaker growled and grabbed his quart mug from the table, smashing it in Offir's face. Bone cracked. Offir fell over, dead. The silence in the bar was deafening. The killer stooped, retrieved his knife, took Offir's bag of coins, and calmly walked towards the door.

He looked across to the stunned compatriots of the dead chieftain. "If any of you layabouts feel like taking me on, then by all means do so now. I've had a cold and it'll do me a world of good." He gave the thoroughly shaken bartender a few coins. "Sorry about the mess." He walked out onto the street and into the night air. The black shadow that had been watching from the corner of the room rose and disappeared, having never been noticed.

* * *

"So someone got the old devil."

"Why didn't you do it yourself, Mr. Wizard? You were right there."

"You don't see a-"

"Yes, yes. You don't see a shadow, but it sees you. It was a lot of money."

"Besides, the entire point of asking them to come there was to identify his officers."

"Did you?"

"Of course. Here."

"Who killed him?"

"Cloaker."

"Oh, you know how I hate slang."

"You did ask."

"Enough. Nothing to say now except ha, ha, Offir's dead."

Chapter Two

The uproar over the death of one of the most notorious clan leaders in all of Allysis lasted for many days. The gang disbanded, or so it was told in every tavern across the land, and the King asked to see the remarkable man who had slain Offir. He was, of course, nowhere to be found. The old bartender, after narrowly escaping from the fabled 'assassination', got much more business, and he was delighted to tell the patrons his story of what happened that night. Everyone learned of how the mysterious stranger had disappeared with a wave and a puff of brimstone and sulfur.

Bounty hunters everywhere were put out; Offir's bounty had been a large one. No one collected the reward, however, as the true slayer never stepped forward. He had, in fact, immediately left the city on horseback.

He was 'seen' at many pubs all across the Kingdom (word travels fast), and the King himself made a public announcement, proclaiming his gratitude for the stranger's deed. The people were glad, too, as the Eternal Blades had never shown them any kindness. Nonetheless, they spoke of the mysterious man, but only in hushed overtones because whoever this man was, he was a killer, a bounty hunter. Everyone knew that bounty hunters had no concern for anyone but themselves.

"And that's the story so far," said the old storyteller in Lekas. "Who knows, he might come here."

A small child eyed him dubiously, "If'n that w's true, why dun he kill the king?"

"Now, now. We mustn't speak ill about His Majesty," the storyteller said without much enthusiasm.

"Ah, that's hooey," the child said.

The old man chuckled. "Well, this isn't a fairy tale. It's real. It just happened a few days ago. You all run along, and I'll tell you another story tomorrow. All right?"

"Okay," the children sighed dejectedly. They wandered off. Three older children waited while their friend made intricate signs with his hands. One of the children translated, "He says thanks for the story, Kevork."

"You're all welcome," the old man replied. "See you tomorrow."

He got up from his chair and stretched, letting the cool sand run over his feet. Lekas, half desert and half well-watered plains, was a small town close to the larger city of Sentin to the west. Kevork got news fairly fast because of Lekas' proximity to Sentin, and the children did love to hear stories.

"How long have you been listening?" he asked aloud.

The cloaker emerged from the shadows of dusk. "For most of the story. You didn't do me justice."

"Ha, ha," Kevork said dryly. "Nothing happened while you were out. Sparrow's gone back on lookout; it's your turn to relieve him."

"Really? I just got back, and already I've got the town on my shoulders again." The cloaker turned and walked away.

As he walked, people saw him and waved, nodded, and shouted greetings. He smiled under his hood but said little. Acknowledging their welcomes with a wave, he loped up a set of dilapidated stairs to the watchtower.

"Hey, Kellson!" a young man bawled out. "You brought us some Suns?"

"What's this 'us' business? You've got enough money, Wald! Go get drunk and lose all your money, then we'll talk."

A teenage boy called up, "Give him an hour!"

The people on the street laughed. Kellson waved and continued up the stairs.

Lekas, years before, had had no need for a lookout, or weapons, for that matter. Generally, things were peaceful. However, two years after Kellson found a home there, armies had been mustered to fight an invading group of nomads called the Sea People. Since Lekas was close to the sea, the reign of the soldiers bore no ill results; that is, until someone assassinated their commanding officer.

With a crossbow bolt through the eye of their leader, the soldiers were ordered to stay where they were until a replacement arrived. Eventually ignoring the orders, they began to take food from the townspeople. They grew increasingly rowdy; and eventually pillaged the town from top to bottom.

Every day, Kellson had taken a few boys around his own age to go watch the soldiers as they trained. Afterwards, Kellson and his followers went back to town and taught the strongest villagers all they discovered. Soon the skills of the citizens matched those of the soldiers, although the soldiers still outnumbered the townspeople.

Fortunately, the training of the soldiers had some flaws. Kellson recognized the flaws quickly and taught the town how to exploit them, if the need to fight arose. The fighting began only a few weeks after the commander died, when a group of drunken soldiers set fire to a house and killed several townspeople.

Kellson led his band of rebels to the sandy plain where the soldiers were camped. They slaughtered more than twenty men and wounded twice that number. From then on, things evolved into a full-blown revolt against the king's soldiers ...

(Continues...)

Excerpted from The Kingdom Of Shadowsby Jared Griffis Copyright © 2010 by Jared Griffis. Excerpted by permission.
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